


The Hunt

by exilefromlife



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Hunt, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exilefromlife/pseuds/exilefromlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pain would be momentary, soon forgotten, and the adrenaline rush of the event itself would be worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [this](http://youtu.be/MkmCzeFp_hg).

Loki had explained it more than once to Steve, who had translated it to the rest of the Avengers. The pain would be momentary, soon forgotten, and the adrenaline rush of the event itself would be worth it.

There was a yearly Hunt, called the Grand Hunt, where Loki's son Fenrir would summon all of the wolf packs in all of the realms, and they'd tear through the forests on Alfheim and Midgard like the Wind. This year, Loki wished the Avengers to experience how fleeting life could be by changing them into wolves for the duration.

He explained it once more. He told them that time would stand still for all other creatures save the ones they hunted. Those shadow-creatures, beings that only existed in the darkest dreams of the great hunters, would be razed from the forests again, allowing all creatures to live safe for another year.

The Hunt never failed, he had said, and several untrained wolves wouldn't affect it if the pups couldn't. The grin on his face had worried most of the team, but the shining blue eyes of their Captain had reassured them. They _knew_ in that instant that Steve had participated in it many times before.

So, it was on a cool night in July that the team met up and shifted into wolves, taking on tones and colors and shades that they'd never thought possible. The gold of Steve, the ebony of Loki, the gray and red of Tasha, the burnt tawny of Tony, all shades matched them, and better, all _scents._

They were all ready for the Hunt in a matter of minutes, the call of the Fenris Wolf holding their thoughts aside and dragging forward millenia of instincts. They felt all packs, large and small, all lone wolves, all pups, all elders, all wolves join together as one aspect of the thing that was Pack.

The Pack moved as one through the night, silent as Death and smooth as Wind, and it was remarkable to behold. Fenrir lead them all, running at the lead of everyone, and it made _sense_ to them how things ran within the scheme of things. It was a glorious feeling, as if they were all an extension of the great Wolf. He was there, leading, directing, _moving_ , and it was the most intense feeling any of the team had ever felt before.

They felt the shadow creatures shy away from the Pack, tasted their fear, smelled Death's hand over them. They felt when Fenrir and Death became one being, and there was nothing separating them from each other, even in the mind of the Wolf. For that night, Fenrir was Death, and Death was on the move.

The Hunt began. A group peeled off from the rest, with more following in the opposite direction. The team felt, not heard, but _felt_ the words "stay true" in their very bodies and they joined the main part of the Pack, pushing the creatures into the trap. The team felt how the shadow creatures' fear betrayed them, made them easier to guide into the guillotine. They were surrounded now, but they were so many. A single command came from Fenrir, and the Pack moved, each wolf attacking a creature.

The fights were glorious, and they could feel how Fenrir felt every attack, every drop of blood spilled. The felt the hand of Death over each one of them, and the adrenaline made the Pack sing once the creatures met their death

The howl started from a small pup on his first Hunt, and spread through the Pack like wildfire, each voice a different timbre, howling a different note. When every wolf was howling, Fenrir and Death joined in, celebrating their victory and mourning the death of their foes. Honor was given to those enemies that died, the note of freedom carrying them into Hela's gentle arms. The notes lasted until dawn, when the Pack fell apart to it's origins, every wolf waking safe and sound in their own dens, the experience of the night doomed to be a dream.

And the team woke up in their home, naked and open to the world, with Fenrir's eyes and voice and scent and memories flooding their own, and they knew they were the blessed ones, able to cherish what they had done, and they knew that when the call for the Hunt came again, they would come to Fenrir's side, take up arms with Death, and Run.


End file.
